


Sugar and Spices and Everything That is (Not) Nice

by MiserableRu



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Multi, it's there, lion is a cat, not the focus but hey, so claude is a catnip?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22780765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiserableRu/pseuds/MiserableRu
Summary: “As much as I like the attention, don’t you think that you’re being too close, your princeliness?”Said prince flinches, bristles then runs away. In that order. He generously laughs at the blonde, likening his action to that of a cat. “Well, a lion is a type of feline at the very least...” his friend comments from the sideline. To that, he laughs as well, “But he’s a harmless kitten” he grins when he catches sight of the prince apologizing profusely to someone he apparently crashed into during his escapades.OrI find the lack of long ABO fic which includes Alpha Dimitri as a beckon to write one
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Claude von Riegan, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan, if you want it to be - Relationship
Comments: 17
Kudos: 205





	Sugar and Spices and Everything That is (Not) Nice

**Author's Note:**

> Me, starting the fic: "Alright, I need to write them in ABO setting, mating like rabbits"
> 
> Me, writing the fic: "Help, it's reaching 10 k words and I still can't find any excuse to slip it in :("

The first time he met the Faerghus' prince was obviously, the first day of the academy. 

After he had to convince the archbishop that yes, he is indeed the Riegan heir and yes, that's his secondary gender and yes it's true, why would Duke Riegan lied about those two information, he was finally out of the archbishop needling. It was exhausting to be constantly under the archbishop's advisor glare while trying to answer Rhea's questions. He was pretty sure that Seteth would growl when he did answer teasingly, but the man stayed composed until he was excused. 

That self-control was hard to crack, he admitted, and that goes for Rhea's mysterious smile as well. The pair would be tough puzzles to solve.

Shaking his head clear of that encounter, he thought of what he's going to face next. Truthfully, he wouldn't mind being the House Leader this year - it was fine, a good training for when his time as the Alliance leader would come. What he wouldn't like is if his house end up with the short end of the stick simply because he is its leader. 

Rhea might reassure him that the church would not treat him differently - "Saint Seiros herself is not an Alpha" she remarked with a forlorn smile - but what's more important would be the students. He knew enough of nobles to assume they would not treat his house with respect. What's to say that the other House Leaders - who would definitely be of nobility - would immediately express their reluctance to accept him as a fellow leader.

So if that made him doubtful to open these double doors to the briefing room he wouldn't blame himself. He heard of them, of course, Duke Riegan made sure he knew all about them during his stay in the Riegan’s house. Edelgard von Hresvelg, the sole princess from the Adrestian Empire and Dimitri Alexander Blaiddyd, the only prince from Faerghus Kingdom. Two of the most influential royal members who would shape Fodlan’s future.

He placed his hand on the door and pushed slightly, trying to catch any scent, any clue or voice inside so he could at least expect something. Going in without a hint would leave him vulnerable to anything and that’s the last thing he wanted to happen today. Fortunately, the door did not creak -thank the priests for being devout enough that even oiling the hinge is done in schedule- and he caught whiff of...well, something.

Is that how it smells like when two...royalty Alphas are stuck inside a room? Like two storms of clashing scents and ideals and even without voice or words, they smelled like they’re in the middle of a war. 

Back in Leicester, the nobles' scents were subdued. Probably out of respect to the actual leader they had chosen - so Duke Riegan's smell dominates the room mostly. Sometimes someone would get pissed, but most of the times they have control over each of their scent, experienced as they are.

But here, these heirs aren't burdened by respect for other dominating forces. And by the gods, he’d suffocate if these doors stay locked during their meeting.

It was hard enough to gather courage to step in, now he had to deal with this nonsense cacophony of scent that he has little knowledge of. He’d rather return to the audience hall and speak with the archbishop - she has little to no scent just like Seteth and some of the faculty members. 

These two are just plain offensive...

He sighed.

And kicked the door open.

After all, if you can’t kill it, you can at least catch it off guard.

“Good day to you two!” he cheerily greeted, ignoring their sharp change in scent - he’s flattered that he could catch BOTH of them off guard, but that was not really the time to glower - as he sauntered in, taking note of his new...friends’ appearance. The prince and princess are...imposing. A tiny, teensy part of him was intimidated by their mere presence. Good thing he learnt not to wear his emotions on his face.

The female one -Princess Edelgard, his mind supplied- coughed to her fist. A slight blush colored her pale cheeks as she commented on his behaviour with an awkward, but stern, “Please refrain from doing so next time, Riegan” the smile on her face wasn’t too bad. It was stilted though and he wondered if she had ever made one that would brighten her face. 

His gaze shifted to the Faerghus prince - Prince Dimitri - expecting him to reprimand him as well, but what he got was nothing he’d ever predict. Bright, haunting blue eyes were staring at him in naked wonder; curious yet awed. They were enough to baffle him. And with a slight glance, Princess Edelgard as well, apparently. He met the princess’s eyes and saw worry as well as confusion.

So this was not a usual occurrence…?

“Dimitri?” the princess said, hesitating as she waved a hand in front of the blonde.

The effect wasn’t immediate. At first he blinked once, then twice, then he blinked rapidly as if shedding whatever reason that had him in a trance for those few minutes. “Oh...” he said as his voice found him, “...I apologize for spacing out. I didn’t get the note that you are an...uh...” he trailed off. Typical noble then, too proper to point out someone’s secondary gender, “It’s alright, your princeliness, not many have the privilege to know. My grandfather made sure that no noble of Alliance would go babbling it to anyone out of the territory” he said almost with ease.

“But here you are, revealing yourself to the world...” Edelgard quipped in.

He gestured to himself with flourish, “Yup, here I am in the flesh. And don’t worry your pretty little heads, all the lords from Leicester had given the okay and I’m free to pursue education if I want to"

Princess Edelgard made an agreeing noise, “That’s remarkable of you. I do hope that was not just for show” she offered another smile; smaller yet more sincere. Naturally, he gave her a playful wink as an appropriate answer. The princess didn’t take his well-meaning gesture quite well though as her smile faltered. Years of being taught manners could be the only thing that prevented her from outright frowning disapprovingly at him.

“In any case, it’s a pleasure to meet you both,” she quickly recovered, placing a hand over her chest and nodded, “...to formally start with, my name is Edelgard von Hresvelg, head of the Black Eagle, princess from Adrestia Empire. I hope we’ll maintain a good relationship over the course of our academy days” she finished - as prim and proper as what a princess in his mind would do.

When the prince did not immediately introduce himself, he inserted his introduction first, “And you know my house and where I’m from, but I’ll bite,” he says, bowing exaggeratingly, “...Claude von Riegan from the Leicester Alliance, not as impressive as the princess here, but eh, let’s get to know each other better for the rest of the year and decide later!” and despite his previous antics, Edelgard accepted it with a hum.

They both turned to the prince, expecting an introduction, not that dazed, far-off look again. Which was what they got, oddly enough. Amusing, yes, but why would a prince even lose in thought this often? Had the kingdom’s prince always been this...ditzy? He was about to ask when Edelgard practically elbowed the blonde, earning them a startled squeak from the princeling.

“Ah, yes, uh, I...it’s, I--” stuttered the prince, “...sorry, I didn’t...what are we doing again, Edelgard?” the embarrassed flush was high against his cheekbones and Claude would appreciate the color against fair skin if Edelgard did not deliver her reply.

“Are you that distracted that an omega joins us as a house Leader, Dimitri?”

Oh, wow, that hurt more than it should be to his pride. Straightforward without mercy, he knew that being an heir is almost a guarantee for a lesson to mince words, but he hadn’t expected the Adrestian Princess to come up and destroy such expectations. He's not usually so self-conscious about this, but one sentence and suddenly he felt that slight twinge of being inferior - a feeling he'd like to disassociate himself from, please.

Dimitri paled at her accusation, “I would never think ill of anyone despite their secondary gender, Edelgard, you know this,” he hastily replied, “...it’s...sorry, Riegan I don’t know what came over me it’s just...” and there's that dazed off look again. Was this involuntary? Did he smell that bad enough it broke someone's senses of understanding?

“Just what?” snapped the princess, her scent spiked with a hint of anger and he readily stepped between the two, facing the fuming Edelgard. With two hands raised in front of him, he bit down his other instinct to run from this fight, knowing they could -and possibly would- force him into submission. Instead, however pitiful to rely on his secondary gender, he strengthened his own scent, wishing that it had the same soothing effect like a certain book had written.

Strengthening his meant cranking his senses to eleven as well though and Edelgard’s scent was dominating the room now. She’s already a bit on edge, possibly from the silent war the two were having before he intervened. Flowers, he registered as he gritted his teeth, and ashes and dust powder and the field in flame, it was overwhelming. He couldn't soothe this alone, especially not when she had this narrow tunnel vision backed with fury.

So he did his best not to be overpowered and held his ground against the smaller princess, wishing that the prince wouldn't rise up to challenge her. “Calm down, let’s not fight, I can always leave if you’re really not okay with it...” he managed to say.

Dimitri, however, chose to grab his wrist and turn him so they were facing one another. He barely had time to react when the prince moved his hands to settle on his shoulders, holding him at an arm's length.

Immediately, he caught the prince's scent: fallen snow after fall, a bit citrusy, but undeniably fresh. His head went dizzy; it was too overwhelming to single out each of their distinctly strong scent. Unfortunately, the prince held him strong enough to leave no room for him to escape. Then, ignoring his growing discomfort, finally spoke in a deep, serious tone,

“You smell really _really_ good!”

....

"Pardon?" He replied dumbly, echoed by Edelgard behind him.

The hands on his shoulders were shaking as Dimitri repeated himself, "You smell far too good than anyone I've ever met" and he knew that the prince meant each word if the sapphire blue eyes staring straight into his own green pair were anything to go by. 

Edelgard made a sputtered remark behind him, one that he couldn't process from how fast his mind tried to comprehend the sentence by turning it over and over inside his head. Once he found his voice, he opened his mouth, "Is…is this how they flirt in Faerghus?" he asked to no one specific in the room.

A moment of silence met his question. Then, Dimitri's eyes widened, red exploded into his whole face that his ears even turned an interesting shade of red. He removed his hands and bowed deeply - any lower he'd make that perfect ninety degree bow - before running straight to the door, crashing them open and surprising one of the priests passing by.

Another few seconds of silence passed before the seemingly cold Adrestian princess, Edelgard von Hresvelg burst out into laughter. Her voice was rich in amusement, unlike the practiced tone she assumed the moment she began her greeting. The hostile scent in the room suddenly dissipated, leaving him slightly winded, but composed enough to watch her in delight.

Sadly, the moment had to end as she clamped a hand over her lips and coughed as if that would be enough to mask her outburst. "I...apologize for showing such...disrespectful joy. It has been a long time since I last saw Dimitri and he had never acted like that before, not as far as I knew him" she said, her lips set on a sincere smile, pure and not shaped through manner training. 

"I admit, I'm intimidated to face a prince and a princess all at once, but you two aren't as uptight as I thought you'd be" he added in, careful to choose his words.

"I'll take that as a compliment…" was her short reply.

The two spoke for a brief moment with Edelgard introducing the prince of Faerghus and his respectful house - the Blue Lion - as well as how this first week would be spent on adapting the students to the academy life. They bidded farewell as the lunch bell rang, promising to keep in touch on behalf of each of their houses. She promised to tell Dimitri about their plan for regular meetings and told him to 'enjoy his peaceful days in the academy'.

Strange choice of words...

But yeah, that was how he found out that the heir to Faerghus kingdom is probably attracted to his scent.

* * *

He thinks nothing of it at first. Many nobles often praise his scent for being most unique - an irony since they would despise his parental heritage - and that he'd be perfect for raising children. So he chalks it off as a flattery to win his heart and bed him. In the end, most nobles have that same exact goal in mind. It's an empty promise, like the rest of their lies.

But when Dimitri looks lost for the third time every time they so much as standing within one foot radius, he finally tries a small test. 

So that is what he did on the third day of the semester: sauntering to the training ground to see if he could find the Faerghus prince.

Being in the training ground is to be expected though, he only confirms it by asking a Blue Lion students. Since the first day, he has caught sight of Dimitri doing spar while trying his best not to break any weapon. And by break, he means snap them into two or straight up split them into pieces. The first time he saw it, he swore that he'd never get on the prince's bad side if he could. The next time, he made sure he's always at a good distance AND angle away.

When he enters the training ground, sure Dimitri is there, clutching a training spear in his hand as another Blue Lion -wielding a training sword- faces him. Truly, he commends the bravery of all Blue Lions who condemn themselves to spar with someone who could snap a wooden weapon into two effortlessly. 

He slips between the crowds gathering to watch the spar. A few Blue Lion students, some from his own class and one or two from the Eagles. It's quite a diverse crowd so he could slip in unnoticed by most - his bright yellow cloak is a dead giveaway, but hey, they're all too focused on something else. 

Gingerly, he blends in, observing the two exchanging blow after blow with practiced ease. Obviously, they've been taught weaponry long before their days in the academy. Each of them is wielding their specialty weapon and judging by the confident steps and swings from each other, they've been sparring partners for quite some time.

Their movements are remarkable, though it is clear that the prince is keeping tab of how much power he exerted to the wooden spear. His foe, however, seems to use every ability in his sleeve to fight. On the occasion when he loses his sword, he'd gladly go up and personal with a fist or a kick. A brave choice, knowing what Dimitri could do without a weapon.

When the prince indeed loses his weapon even for a moment, he takes a defensive stance. Every unarmed punch looks restricted, as if he's afraid to touch anyone with his hands or legs. But once the weapon is back in his grip, the tension releases and he's back to normal once more.

It is an enlightening match if not, entertaining.

Finally, it ends with the sword wielder guy reprimanding the prince for being too restrained with his strike and leaves with an angry scoff. The dispersing crowds signify that it's nigh time for him to move. So he does, sidles up next to Dimitri who's in the middle of returning the lance to the weapon rack.

"Nice match!" he says, earning a startled flinch from Dimitri - and a crack from the spear?

"Oh, uh, thank you…" there's a flush on the prince's cheeks and a sweat rolling down his brow as Dimitri pointedly tries to shove the (broken) training weapon to the rack, "...Felix is a good sparring partner, I would expect no less from him than a good match" 

He's diverting the compliment, Claude notes as he hums agreeingly, "You're doing a good job too, your highness," he says as he closes in, throwing an arm over the prince's shoulder. It's a harmless gesture, one that he hadn't expected to result in any reaction.

But it gets one.

The weapon rack topples over as Dimitri shoves the lance roughly into the wrong row. He stares at the mess as if confused, before starting to tidy up in record time - and mostly wrong weapon on the wrong row. A minute later, the prince excuses himself, and literally runs away to the exit direction.

Now that…

That's an answer he couldn't even have predicted.

* * *

Of course he has to test it several times and dare he say that he's starting to enjoy it. A small touch here, sitting closer there, sometimes, a drape over the shoulder. He makes sure to note each reaction he can pull from the prince with each attempt. 

Most of them seem to be a dazed off Dimitri - like some switch in his mind just flicked off, leaving him with the bare minimum to remember how to breathe. On the rare occasion, especially when he's high strung, he'd be startled and does everything that he's doing at that moment in the worst way imaginable.

All in all it is hilarious.

And...he probably shouldn't do it too often that the prince's loyal servant starts steering Dimitri away from him every time they cross paths. 

Politely, he backs off; only taking a step closer when he's feeling particularly playful. Besides, even if Dedue is eyeing him warily, the prince does not tell him off. So he takes that as an ‘okay, go ahead, as long as nobody’s hurt’.

Thus the first week of his academy days are spent…

* * *

The week after is spent trying to figure out the new professor who has presided over the Blue Lion class. Byleth Eisner, child of the supposed former captain of Seiros knight, Jeralt Eisner. He's quite confused that Rhea had allowed a mercenary to take over a class, but considering how they had literally saved his - and Edelgard's and Dimitri's - life, he'd at least owe them this secrecy. 

Not that he wouldn't try and find it out himself on later date, mind.

The rest of the moon breezes by without incident. Until the scheduled mock battle between the three houses in the academy that is.

Despite having self-taught himself about tactics during his younger years, it seems that the new professor has a better knack for it than he does and it is clear the moment that the three-way battle tilts to the Blue Lion's favor. Hilda gives him a sidelong glance when they hear the trumpet going off to signify an out. "Who do you think that was?" she asks, raising up from her makeshift leaves rug. 

"Wanna bet that it's not one of the Blue Lion?" 

She rolls her eyes, "Yeah, if I want to lose…" the pink-haired noble pouts, "...how long should we hide in this forest? The damp air would ruin my skin"

Claude pulls at the rope he has tied to the tree, making sure it would hold, "Then, would you be so kind as to scout the field under the burning sun?" her groan is a reply he expected, yet he chuckles at anyway. She doesn't complain further, instead, she chooses a question to wile away their waiting time, "So...what's with you and the proper prince?" 

It is not a serious question, half-serious, maybe, but not the one he should answer truthfully, "Me and who now?" he shoots back, giving his craft one long last glance. "His princeliness, Dimitri, duh? I didn't see you get touchy feely with any prince except him," Hilda pauses for a moment, "...and there’s no other prince in the academy anyway” she adds as an afterthought.

Humming thoughtfully, he shifts to gain more comfort from his seating, "I'm running a little test with him" he replies, picking up wood splinters from his uniform. Hilda cocks an eyebrow as she tilts her head up, "Having a personal project already? And with the other house leader to boot? You're unbelievable, Claude" she says, disbelieved. 

A laughter skitters out of his lips, "Oh, right, sorry, I mean, I'm running a little test 'on' the prince" he says, making a gesture with his hands where he jabs his thumb in general direction of their foe. Hilda's breath hitches, "On the-- Claude! I do hope that's a joke" she says, seemingly befuddled.

"Nopee~ it's true. It's nothing dangerous, I'm not even gonna lace his food with poisons" he teases, swinging his legs back and forth childishly. Though unconvinced, she accepts his words with an exasperated, "Well, whatever…it's not going to be my problem" as she returns to watching the perimeter.

Another trumpet resounds and they both become less relaxed. The waiting game is annoying, but he doesn't intend to blast through the enemy with pure force. Strength is not his forte, it's wits. Besides, someone's bound to pass through this small overgrown woods and he needs anyone to gain knowledge of the battlefield.

Then he could make his move.

When someone actually emerges from the bushes, he nearly chokes.

It's just his luck that it is Dimitri who's appointed to traverse the wood, wasn't it? Hilda is quick to react with a yelp and instinctively threw the only axe they have as a protective gesture. The prince parries the deadly projectile despite not expecting it and counters with his spear thrusting forward to nick her.

She dodges with a stumble, groaning when she sees how far her weapon is. "Sheesh, Claude," she bemoans, "...you're making me work too much"

Yeah, well, if they want to win.

Instead of replying, he chooses to stay silent, hidden between the leaves above. There's no way the prince is alone - someone must've stayed hidden, waiting for an ambush to intervene. He has to rely on Hilda's flimsy willingness to get her hands dirty until he could spot them.

"Claude is here, isn't he?" the prince suddenly says. He could hear the tremor in his voice and though he couldn't see his face, Claude is half-sure Dimitri is gritting his teeth. If Hilda's face is anything to go with - he's certain that Dimitri is making faces he usually wouldn't. "No, he's not exactly here…" she halts her reply and pouts "...wait, why should I tell you where he is?" 

To his surprise, Dimitri looks up, straight at him as if he could see between the leaves. Honestly, he nearly jumps by the sheer accuracy of that gaze. 

"I commend you for defending him alone, but this fight is ours!" he hoists his spear toward the weaponless girl. She stares at the spear, then at the Faerghus prince, "But I'm unarmed and helpless, surely, you wouldn't hurt a weak girl like me?"

Weak is by far the last word he would choose to describe Hilda's raw strength. That girl could throw him across the room without breaking a sweat.

And Dimitri, despite knowing that - she threw an axe with one hand to his face - has hesitated, an opening that the Goneril’s noble takes to grab the spear grasped in his hands. 

_”You can’t win against his princeliness if he has a weapon,” he had told all the Golden Deer students this precious bits of information, “...it helps him focus his strength, dwindling it to a reasonable level so as to not destroy it. Hence he’d be very careful whenever he has one in his hands”. Lorenz frowned at this piece of advice, “Then, wouldn’t it be more dangerous if he holds nothing then? Without a medium for all those power, he could easily crush us”_

_His eyes were gleaming mischievously as he stated easily, “You will have a better chance fighting him unarmed than not, trust me...”_

_“How uncouth...” the noble groused, clearly distrusting his words. Claude shrugged, “If you feel like it, you could try and fight him with a weapon, take your pick. He’s going to be a commendable foe either way” he says as he shifts through the scattered notes across the desk, “...now who’s next? The Fraldarius boy or his princeliness's vassal?”_

So that’s their plan against Dimitri, strip him off of his weaponry and hope for the best.

It’s exactly what Hilda is currently doing with all her might, earning a startled gasp from the prince. Instinctively, he pulls back and Hilda reacts by holding her ground. The poor weapon, of course, couldn’t stand that kind of force and with a good old crack it snaps into two with the pointed end somehow ends up in Hilda’s grasp.

“Did it!” she yells, fist pumping in celebration - only to be smacked squarely against her forehead by the dull end of an arrow. He quickly pinpoints where the arrow has come from and releases one of his own. The ensuing loud yelp is enough telling that whoever that is has been hit. Rustle of leaves followed and Ashe falls to the forest ground, with a bruise on his cheeks.

Two trumpets are heard and he curses. Geez, this is not how he has planned this ambush to be. Ruined plan aside, he glances down, spotting Ashe apologizing to Hilda, who begrudgingly accepts that she now sported a bruise for the next three days. The two walk out of the woods; Ashe wishing Dimitri good luck and Hilda waving -and pouting- toward the woods.

Then he meets the prince’s eyes - who’s surely now has spotted him. It takes him all of his willpower not to move when Dimitri starts to move toward him. Not until he's in the perfect place and-- 

With a swipe of his arrow, a net he fashions from vines dropped down, tangling Dimitri in a mess of green and leaves. He jumps down from his perch, smirking at the captured prince. He’d love to get more into the trap, but well, he has caught a big prey. This would leave him with enough time to out the prince with an arrow or possibly use this situation to snare another Blue Lion--

With a swipe of that half-spear, Dimitri has freed himself, ripping the nets until he could stand without any of the vines curling around his limbs.

Well, damn...he thinks stupidly with a bow in hand and an upset half-spear wielding prince to face. 

"Cruel of you, I made it overnight, you know? " he sulks at the scattered bits and pieces of his handiwork.

Dimitri doesn’t reply with words, just the pointed end of his spear jabbed at his direction - a silent challenge. “Ooooh, scary...” he chuckles as his word seemed to prompt more agitation from his foe. 

“Fight properly, Claude!” the prince demands as he steps closer to where he has landed.

Instinctively, his hand hovers above his quiver, counting an imaginary number inside his head as he simulates a test run. No way he would give up just like that.

Dimitri's spear is poised to attack. And since the prince is advancing toward him steadily, its reach would negate his range despite being half of its former length. Attacking from the front would be the worst. If only he could distract the prince enough to deal a preemptive strike...

Oh…

OH!!

His mind finally catches up and concocts a mad plan. Would it be called cheating if he...just...use what he has? What he’s born with? His hand reached up to his collar and he tugged down, exposing part of his neck. To his delight, Dimitri immediately stiffens, his eyes zones in on the new skin - and by extent, smell - he has exposed. 

Good...he thinks, he could definitely do this.

"And what do you think you're doing, Claude von Riegan?"

The voice startles him enough for his feet to leap and his arms to draw an arrow and take aim behind him. To the sight of the newest addition - professor Byleth - in the academy staring at him with that flat expression on their face. Almost immediately, he feels a small tap to his back and sees Dimitri’s blunt end of spear behind him.

The sound of a trumpet finalizing his fate.

"Aww…" he said, exaggerating his disappointment, "...I thought I had it"

Dimitri recoils and leaves instead, his ears flushed red.

* * *

In the rare occasion of when he could approach the prince and Dimitri doesn’t suddenly lose half his brain cells, they usually would have a small discussion about Fodlan's history and current state of affairs. It is of no surprise that the Blue Lion's house leader would have vast knowledge of Fodlan, but he's impressed by how Dimitri put it as something they have to learn from, not dwell at, or worse, forget about.

"In this current state of peace, despite how shaky, we could dare to hope that none of that bloody tragedy should come to pass anymore. I want people to remember it as a lesson, not a reason to destroy one another without a strong proof," he carefully says, "...it is a faint hope, but one hope that I wish to give to both Duscur and the kingdom nonetheless" and there’s a faint regret lingering in his eyes, forlorn.

“That’s how you intend to rule as king?” he asks.

Dimitri visibly winces, “Yes, the burden of the past shouldn’t be placed upon those who live for the future...” 

His thought goes to the Alliance that Duke Riegan entrusted to his hands. To his home country beyond the border. To this world full of differences and people who would act violently due to such distinct culture and flimsy reasoning. Then to a goal he has dreamt, _desired_ to attain yet seemed too far to reach. "I bet you'd win the commoners' support looking all charming and suave while delivering that speech of hope" he says instead.

A small smile tugs at the prince's lips, "I do hope they're moved by my words, not by my status or...worse, looks" he says almost sheepishly.

And in that momentary peace, he almost caves in. Maybe Dimitri could-- maybe he could-- a thought he should forget yet remains; intangible and out of reach. He drapes an arm over the taller student, grinning toothily at his startled face, "Why not all of those?” he says.

This sudden closeness, unfortunately, causes side-effects ever present to surface. The reaction is almost instant as Dimitri flings himself out of the door, claiming that he’s going to talk with professor Byleth about something too important to miss and disappeared within seconds. Though he knows the prince didn’t mean to, he still did fall from the chair and has to explain to the next person over that it was an accident.

Seating himself back to the chair, he watches the creaking door where Dimitri has disappeared into. Pensively, he mulls what they’ve just discussed. Dimitri spoke of giving hope to people so they could move to a brighter future. Yet he, himself doesn't seem ready to let go of the past. Did he intend to bear the burden in the place of his people? 

Still, how much can one man bear?

He hopes deeply that Dimitri does not intend to carry it alone. 

But he'd be a hypocrite to say so...

* * *

Continuing his 'test' on Dimitri isn't something he does out of curiosity anymore. The prince is interesting, sure, but what lies beneath all the prim and proper act has ensnared his natural sense of care. From how he always divert any praise from him, fixating his gaze to the ground below whenever someone insists on it, as if he doesn't deserve it. To the haunting look he sometimes sports whenever he thinks nobody's looking. 

That young prince needs an ear to talk to. Desperately.

So he tries to be a 'dear' whenever they meet, offering to lend an ear to listen or an arm to help. Small things, really, but it makes him bubble with glee whenever Dimitri would give up and allow him access further through the prince's wall. Making time to do so had been added to his mental schedule. In-between his own study and late night planning.

They share a similar goal: - he hasn't disclosed his - a world without discrimination. And the more he listens, the more he unearths who's buried deep under that brave prince persona; a responsible young heir who was trapped by the ghost of his past. Someone who knows how much a past could clip your freedom and direct your future.

Dimitri never spoke of it straight up to his face, but he could piece the puzzle by himself, thank you. 

And if in the future his plan would come to need an unexpected intervention, he could utilize this knowledge to secure the kingdom's help in his fight for a certain dream. 

Yet a small part of him is disgusted by how selfish his thoughts are. How he should find a way that wouldn't manipulate the prince in his agenda. How he could probably concoct a riskier, but less manipulative plan that would benefit Dimitri's goal as well as his own. Dimitri has enough burden as is, a burden he chose to bear himself…

That must be his secondary gender getting too attached, a trait he wishes to cut off. Hadn't he trained for this? Hadn't he studied during those sleepless nights for this exact goal? 

Perhaps...these rendezvous aren't only giving him the positive result he had expected...

* * *

Professor Byleth is as indifferent as their scent is. Which probably translates to: Professor Byleth has no scent whatsoever. And surprisingly, many find it to be...accomodating. Sometimes, all of these young people with various secondary gender being cooped up could be too much for anyone. Even to those who usually wouldn't think twice about anyone's scent.

Without any scent to worry about, professor Byleth is a perfect counselor. Add that with their surprisingly calm nature, it's logical that many students flock to them for advice or shelter in general. He had seen Bernadetta - small, squeamish and all around similar to a frightened mouse - occasionally around the new professor, hiding behind their coat. Or Lindhart - yawning endlessly in pursuit of a good napping place - leaning against the professor in the garden, taking a comfortable nap. And both of them aren't even from their class.

That was one of the reasons why he followed the professor to have tea together. Aside from how curious he is, professor Byleth is his teacher so he's kind of obligated to follow their command to some degree. 

Also, watching the professor calmly prepares tea with that impassive look is like a work of art. They're fascinating in a way a painting would and he can and will appreciate an aesthetically pleasing sight like that. Soon enough, the calming scent of tea rises up and he is offered a cup. Murmuring a thanks, he brings it up to his mouth to take a sip-

"Are you courting my house leader?"

And promptly chokes.

Three seconds later, a hand is placed on his back, patting comfortable circles as he tried to expunge fluid from his nose. "Geez, warn a guy before dropping that kind of remark, teach" he coughs out. Despite being preoccupied by that uncomfortable feeling of water in places it shouldn't, he chooses to continue, "And to answer your inquiry; no, I'm not trying to put a ring on his princeliness"

Teach makes a face at him, one that is not quite impassive, but one that is also full of emotion no one could identify. "Why aren't you?" they simply ask, as if they are merely speaking about the weather. He chuckled aloud at this nonchalant question, "You seem so sure that I would" he replies, grinning. 

They take a deep sip from their own cup, “Your scent lingers around him, did you know this?”

 _No, he didn’t_ He takes a sip himself, watchful of the other’s gaze, “Perhaps...” he mutters, blowing over the already lukewarm tea. They give him one of the flattest expressions a human being could give and he straight up giggles at that. "Did my scent bother you, Teach? I know you have to speak with his highness a lot and everything…"

His professor pauses for a bit, cup tilting to their mouth yet not a drop is spilled. Then, they place the cup back, cobalt eyes fixated at his, "I'm not discouraging you, in fact you'd have my full support," the young professor continues, "..you have an oddly soothing effect for the prince, I'd suggest him finding you whenever he's agitated"

Fortunately, the tea had been swallowed and he has yet to take another profound sip so he chokes on nothing but spit. "Again, a little warning would be good for my poor heart" he presses a hand against his chest. Professor Byleth merely shrugs, guzzling down their own tea as if they hadn't spoken at all.

Their sentence however stays inside his mind, as a strange giddiness pulses beneath his chest. Pride, he notices, among the sea of happiness and eagerness.

Is this what they called preening?

Professor Byleth's cup clinks against its saucer as the former mercenary plucks a piece of sweets on the table, "And if you're worried, no, your scent is not bothersome" they say, pushing the bite-sized food between their lips. 

A thought surfaces from his mind, 'What does 'not bothersome' entails?' it asks, genuinely puzzled. 'Not bothersome' could fall between 'barely tolerable' and 'almost delightful'. He has half a mind to sniff himself right then and there, curious if it would give him a different answer. Though he doesn’t expect much as his nose had never been good at identifying his own smell - most who share his gender do. 

Perhaps it's in their nature to care for others, not themselves. 

However, his interest is piqued. What kind of smell did people get from him? Surely it's worth asking the professor? And he does, as casually as he could without sounding too eager.

"Your scent? Didn't you know it yourself?" there is a slight tilt of their head; an almost too childish gesture from someone who might be older than him. He shakes his head, no, "Mostly all I could smell is sweet" and to make his point across, he cocks his head to the side, offering.

Teach makes no move to take a whiff - should he feel offended? They stare at him for a minute, a thoughtful look passes their eyes before they return to nibbling at the sweets. "I don't think I'm the right person to ask how you smell" they reply shortly.

"Why not?" he asks.

They didn't stop to answer him mid chew, but when they do stop, it is to say, "You'd be better off asking someone else, Riegan" they say; a stern refusal, which they don't elaborate further. This, he notes to find out under the list of many mysteries in the academy revolving the new professor.

* * *

Flimsy as it might be, the thought is distracting enough for him to ask someone else about how he smells like to them. And somehow, that someone ends up to be the other house leader. 

Edelgard wouldn’t lie, that was his reason and so he asks her during the meeting between the house leaders - minus Dimitri who has to catch up with a few menial tasks from other professors. They are sorting through classes' paper when he presents her with this question.

Edelgard seems surprised to hear his request and as he explains that he can't really smell his own fragrance as anything but something sweet, the princess closes in; a curious look appears on her face. Instinct prompts him to tilt his head a bit, showing her a little more skin and possibly to expose his gland. She doesn’t move closer, but does take a deep whiff and makes an understanding noise at the back of her throat.

"You're about to have a heat"

And it is spoken with such a matter of factly tone, that he chuckles aloud. "It is true, Claude, I know you're more experienced, but never think lightly of a heat" she continues, frowning when he laughs even louder. Clutching his stomach, he tries to reassert his thought, asking for the princess to stop from continuing her advice. So she did, though not without glaring daggers at him as his laughter died down.

Once his laughter dies down, he speaks, wiping a tear out of the corner of his eyes, "I know that, your highness, I know pretty much how my schedule works," she nods in silence, awaiting his further explanation, "...what I want you to answer is what do you...think my scent smells like?"

"Spices" she answers.

"What?"

She sighs, "You smell like spices - a kitchen in winter where they mix and match various seasonings to warm their home" her eyes flashes in brief nostalgia before she closes them, "...it's a comforting scent. Strange that it belongs to a prankster like you" she ends with a smirk playing on her lips.

Oh wow...he hadn't expected that. Now he really wants to take a whiff of himself. "Does it suit your taste, princess Edelgard?" he says teasingly. The Adrestian Princess snorts, her fingers sieved through the documents they've collected on the table, "It certainly suits Dimitri's taste" she says with barely put together flat face.

Yeah, it does suit the prince's taste if his little experiments are anything to go by. And he might or might not puff his chest from her remark, "But how about you?" he pushes instead.

She pauses, catches his eyes and shoves half a pile of documents -Dimitri's load of work- to his side of the table, "I find it average, though I might reconsider if you do your job properly" she challenges. 

He gives her one of his sincere grin and salutes, "Consider it done, princess"

* * *

This is not a good heat. No, no, not at all, he can tell just how much everything irritates him by simply existing. The temperature is wrong, the light from the glass window is too blinding, someone is dipping their quill far too often than necessary, everything in his class seems out to ruffle him. And the smell...don't make him start with that…Everyone should just shove those pungent scent up their ass because no one should have the right to this level of invasive odor let alone everyone in the class.

He tries his best not to lash out during class, but gods, if someone turns their page that loudly again he'd shoot someone between their eyes.

Now they're staring at him with wide eyes, great, what now--

His addled brain clears for a moment and he visibly winces, "I...said that out loud, didn't I?" 

Professor Hanemann orders him to go back to his room. "And get everything that you need before going to the heat room" he adds sternly. He couldn't do anything but accept his fate, dragging his uncooperative body to exit the class. The few Alpha among his classmates looked equally tense and he promised to himself that he'd apologize to them. Ignatz and Leonie -her orange hair bobs as she shifts subtly as if to shield him from Lysithea's sight- nod at him sympathetically while Marianne -closes her slate blue eyes- twines her fingers as if to pray for him - she would, he knew, Marianne is just too...compassionate to everyone but herself.

Once he slips out, the breeze hits him, blessedly calming him figuratively and literally. For a moment, he waits there, letting it cool his head - or else this would go way worse than it should. After he deems himself sufficiently cooled down, he makes his way to his dorm room to fetch a few articles of clothing. And perhaps a short visit to the dining hall is due for nourishment before he locked himself for the whole day. Oh, he also has to notify the staff so they could bring him fresh linens, gods know he'll need it--

Stop...he commands his own brain to halt else it'd heat up again and he'd lose his ability to think rationally. He divides them into short, simple command instead: Clothes - food and drink - clean fabric - heat room. And immediately takes off to finish the first requirement.

Traveling across the academy is something he usually enjoys. Observing all these different students from all kinds of backgrounds mingling together is a reflection of his faraway dream. Yet today, he wishes deeply not to see - and by a stretch - or be seen by anyone in this kind of vulnerability. The classes are all still in session so at least he won't see a bunch of them around. He can brush off one or two, it'd be - he swallows, trying to clear the fog - perfectly _fine_

His journey back to his room is sluggish at best and desperate at worst. Stairs are the worst enemy to mankind and he'd request to get rid of those if he's rational enough. Thankfully, no, he knows it's his instinct saying such a ridiculous suggestion and he intends to shove it all behind his head once this is over and done with.

Slipping into his own room, he groans. Can he just...spend it here? His mind asks as he places the bundle of books as gently as he could on the table. 

No, stop making stupid decision for him, he scolds himself. Violently, he shakes his head, trying to clear all the miscellaneous -useless- thoughts away from his mind. This is not a safe room, he insists to himself. 

So he retrieves a few clothes, one blanket and a handkerchief from his mother. He had gotten by with these before so they would…

Inhaling deeply, his confidence falters.

...probably be enough...

* * *

It is not okay. Not even remotely fine. He feels feverish to the point that any touch only earns him a whine of pain. This is becoming less predictable and more volatile than he thought it would. Keeping himself under wrap is making him sweat profusely, but crawling out of the damp blanket would expose him. 

"Is this still normal?" he asks aloud between pants. His clothes have been thrown to one side of the room along with clean linen and clothes when he first entered the room. To his side are a few water bottles and some fruit bars he snatched from the kitchen. Even looking at those makes him gag.

Snapping his thought back to the horrible occurence currently wrecking his body, he lets out a wheezy swear. His heat had never been this terrible ever since he understood his needs. Knowing ahead had always been his strength and with it, he could predict mostly anything. 

But this, this is beyond even his prediction.

Burying his nose to the blanket, he groans. 

This is not enough…

Maybe he should've asked for someone else's item. Golden Deer students preferably, they've been a constant comfort around him. Or should he need something stronger? Dimitri's perhaps- oh gods, he would definitely need one of that ridiculously long blue cape he always wears. With that single lead, his mind adds in the detail without prompting.

The prince is fascinating, yes, attractive, most definitely. Dimitri could lift anyone with ease - he could think up millions of ways to utilize that kind of unpredictability in a battlefield, but he’s a bit...occupied right now - and if he apologizes for maneuvering you with that ability, you would forgive him.

Taking the blanket to his hand, he presses his nose against the clean fabric. If he concentrates enough, maybe he could imagine Dimitri's scent? A silly notion, yet his mind provides almost instantly after he wishes so. The prince himself is riveting, yet his scent is surprisingly ordinary. In a way that most royalty doesn’t. It could become too much in intensity, but most of the time, the prince seems to keep it below a lid. It practically begs for him to dig through his defense, teases him until he snaps and exposes himself in--

….

Gods, he wishes his heat would have disappeared when the sun rises tomorrow..

* * *

He didn’t dream of being manhandled by the prince, nope.

What he did dreamt up is cats, yes, those cats around the monastery. With various colored fur and patterns. There's one who meows for attention, but would never move to be petted. Another is always perched on top of the crates, occasionally meowing, but too prideful to come down. A few scurry away timidly, while one seems to be too preoccupied with itself to play with him.

Then there's one with cream-colored fur and blue eyes, huddling to his feet whenever he’s not paying attention and bristles once his hand finds its soft down. That one who doesn’t meow for attention and gives him a show instead whether it is done knowingly or not.

That one with blue cape--

Nope, he didn’t dreamt at all then.

* * *

“Claude, professor Byleth is looking for you”

His hand stops as his eyes lazily flick toward the gray-haired student belonging to the other class, Ashe, is it? The younger student seems frantic, worried even, that he shifted from left to right, impatient hastening his nervous tapping. "Why? I thought I've finished the assignment they asked of me?" he asks back, befuddled when a blush spread across the freckled face as his pacing grows.

Clearly, there's more to the order than what Ashe has told him.

But the shorter student persists, half-begging him to 'please just come or someone is going to die'. An exaggeration, perhaps, but he eventually relents, letting Ashe clutch his hand and lead him to wherever professor Byleth wants him to be.

They run pass a few of Ashe's classmates, who offer him a sympathetic look before leaving hastily as if they have somewhere to be. Some he recognizes as students from other classes, who stare at the pair of them moving against the flow strangely. He glances at their retreating back and shoots a look at the grey haired boy. 

Ashe pretends not to feel the questioning glare burning behind his neck. He’s not doing a good job, he assumes as the shorter student squirms.

The door to the training ground opens with a creak and immediately his nose tells him what has gotten all of those students to run. Even Ashe visibly trembles as he leads him inside in complete silence.

One of the first things he catches sight of is professor Byleth. Their stoic face remains exactly the same; calm and composed. What betrays their appearance is their usually tidy hair. It is not as meticulous as they always styled it to be. Those cobalt locks have been messily tousled by whatever had taken place here. 

Then, he sees the snarling, growling student on the professor's death grip. The scent might have hit him first, but seeing the sight prompts that worry within his chest. His gaze is quick to flit the arena, seeking the source of this sudden ferocity. And there, across the room, another student is being restrained to the ground, quivering with barely contained anger. Two students are tasked to keep him grounded and so far, they have been doing a good job.

A good distance away from them is the calm faithful vassal of the prince, observing in silence. Judging by the tremor in his arms and hands, he’s fighting against his own feelings of obligation to protect the prince. It is good, had he intervened, he’d do more harm than good.

His gaze returns to the student with professor Byleth who’s not doing as well.

Oh...he knows what he had to do at that moment

“I brought him, professor Byleth, but...” Ashe calls out, hesitating. Professor Byleth promptly ignores this and makes an agreeing noise. They turn their stony gaze toward him, nodding as if to beckon him closer. 

Instinctively, he steps closer, as close as he could not to surprise Dimitri. With one hand stretches out in front of him, he finally speaks, calling out softly,

"Dimitri…"

The prince stops thrashing, his blue eyes zone in on him instantly. All kinds of gazes are fixated on him; all sorts of emotions waft in the air to the point of suffocating. He ignores these, only focusing on the prince in professor Byleth's grasp. At least the blonde has grown considerably calmer, though that unfocused eyes makes him wary to proceed further.

Seeing this progress, to his horror, professor Byleth lets go.

He barely has enough time before the taller student literally tackles him to the ground - his poor butt - and starts nosing at the junction between his neck and shoulder - where his scent is the strongest. A chuckle escapes his lips as he cards through sweaty blonde locks, letting the other relax on top of his lap. Like a giant cat, he thinks and it's almost adorable if not kind of heavy.

Dimitri's scent permeates his senses soon enough; telling him of the rage and gradually, the slowly settling in calm with each inhale the prince took. His hand keeps shifting through Dimitri's hair as said prince starts to purr - he really is a cat, isn't he? - and delves into a new spot in his neck, seeking where he could find more scent. 

He sighs in relief when the other's scent finally shifts to tell him that Dimitri is content. Whatever he's feeling before has disappeared into thin air, forgotten, perhaps.

It is only then that the strange quietness makes him look up. Calm has befallen the training arena since its occupants have chosen to watch the two instead of resuming their quarrel. He smells their shock; their awkward hesitation to approach him. Even Teach is staying a good distance away, though by the knowing smile on their lips, they stay away because they understand not to get too close. Their stares snap him back to reality.

Oh...right...this is a public facility, is it not?

"Ah, sorry, it's--" 

"You owe me ten thousand golds, Sylvain" professor Byleth says as they massaged their -definitely- sore arms. An indignant squeak is squeezed out of the red-headed student, who then sputters a desperate, "What? Professor, that's not fair!" followed by a snort from the female blonde beside him. Between them, the dark-haired Blue Lion makes a scoffing noise, muttering some words under his breath that he couldn't quite catch. 

And just like that, the tension breaks from the arena, with Teach finally approaching them and asks if he need assistance to move Dimitri. The prince's loyal vassal - who had been standing by Ashe’s side - reluctantly follows suit, offering his strength to carry the prince should it be needed.

Abruptly, he feels Dimitri stiffens on his lap. A grin tugs at his lips as he knows what would come next when the prince pulls away from him and glances up to catch sight of his face. He, being a good host, of course, greets him cheerily with a "Good morning, your highness" complete with a wink.

Dimitri leaps away from him, his lips opens and closes rapidly, mixed emotions passes through his face in mere seconds. When he realizes that he couldn't explain -or comprehend- the situation, his cheeks color and with a loud apology he takes off. 

Nevertheless, the door needs a repair after being kicked open by a flustered Blaiddyd.

* * *

After the commotion that is Flayn's - Seteth beloved 'sister' - kidnapping, the academy buzzes in worry. This year's term has apparently been too eventful for some of the nobilities. The presence of three heirs from all across Fodlan could probably be contributed to this series of events. He isn't so sure about that, however, as none of these events lead back to them specifically.

Professor Byleth's presence - and the archbishop's treatment to them - could be one reason. But other than that, he couldn't jump to conclusion. Evidence is scarce and he'd rather not assume prematurely. Lessons go by without a hitch though, as if two girls hadn't been just returned to them after being kidnapped. These nobles should loosen up sometimes...keeping their strong facade must've worn them enough for things to slip through their masks of arrogance.

What he hadn't expected is the other House Leader's scents, which are shifting rapidly into threatening instead of neutral. Any meeting after that moon with them is horribly draining and he wryly exclaims it to their face whenever they meet. His protest falls into deaf ears and he never tries to hide that in his snarky comment. Despite this, they seem deaf to his petty plea.

Fortunately for him, professor Byleth is always there to be that neutral smell who anyone could fall into just to feel relief. 

He especially needs that when he's fresh out of the meeting with the two lords, exhausted from holding two sides of horrifying scents at arm’s length. Both are too stubborn and he needs a damn break, for god’s sake. And while professor Byleth is like a breath of fresh air, he still needs something to keep his instinct from going haywire.

So, obviously, the feast sounds like a blessing to his ears.

A relaxing night where everyone would have to pretend that everything is alright. He's not into formal ballroom dancing, but he welcomes the festive mood it brings at the very least. The Heron cup this year seems promising as well after he reads every name of the students who would participate - randomly or thoughtfully chosen, he couldn't quite tell. But hey, he knows he'd be entertained either way.

When he sees professor Byleth on the courtyard with Dedue by their side, he makes sure to give them an amiable wave. The tall student nods politely at his greeting before focusing back on the routine he has to memorize. Being supportive as he always does, he whistles when he finishes one movement and claps when he manages a spin. 

It, however is seen as disturbance and professor Byleth glares at him, silently shooing him away. Pouting a bit, he makes an exaggerated show of leaving, praising Dedue's form one last time and winks when the older student glares dagger at him.

To his amusement, Dedue does win and his Blue Lion’s classmates are so astonished that they couldn't even congratulate him properly without tripping over their words. The short archer boy and the blonde healer are probably the only two who don't construct words. Instead, praising sincerely -and excitedly- at his accomplishment. 

Prince Dimitri is equally as genuine in congratulating Dedue, though he comes off as disbelieved yet happy for him. Awkward, but honest, just what he expects out of the prince.

This little competition is enough to cool the tension down. Apparently, nobody had expected Dedue to be competing and professor Byleth had just proven how much they'd miss without the tall vassal's presence in the Heron cup. Edelgard even praises him when they meet up right before the ball. And to his surprise, her praise is indeed fairly sincere. 

Dimitri gladly offers himself to deliver her praise to Dedue, making sure that not a word is forgotten. 

With that, their scent considerably mellow out and their last meeting ends up in quite a positive note. A positive note that he's partially sure could get worse or better after the dance. He hopes it's the latter though, because god knows he couldn't stand them when they fight with their 'instinct' instead of words.

What comes next is the ball and he very much looks forward to that. Food, celebration, would get a bit stuffy though, but they're still in celebrating mood and he isn't going to destroy this delightful atmosphere. Watching people dance was boring though and he decides to rectify this predicament by pulling professor Byleth - all slack-jawed and baffled - to the dance floor.

Merely a minute later, he finds out why the professor has been sitting out for the night. Not that it deters him from leading professor Byleth to a somewhat decent dance. How did this person _trained_ the winner of Heron cup again?

("I read a book and observed, Riegan, stop tripping me" 

"With all due respect, Teach, that's not my foot"

"Oh…")

When he finally lets the professor free from his hand, he simply follows the music and reaches for the next hand he could grab. As his luck would tell, it belongs to Dimitri - with eyes widening comically - who immediately tries to escape. He smirks at the prince and simply tightens his grip, placing a taunting hand on one of the blonde's broad shoulders.

A hesitant hand settles on his waist and he considers it a win, "It is considered rude to let go of someone in the middle of the dance, your princeliness" he says, chuckling when his dance partner trips over his own feet. True to his upbringing, however, Dimitri quickly recovers, pulling him along as the music shifts into something less melancholic. 

"Is this your plan all along, Claude?" two steps to the right then a halt. One step forward, "Nope, it must be fate, which has brought your hand in mine," he replies and takes a quick step back when Dimitri skips a step with a sputter, "...I kid, prince, relax, it's just one dance, I wouldn't have time to do anything while both my hands are occupied, no?" a spin worries him, but he tries nonetheless.

Dimitri catches him and huffs, "You'd find a way without them somehow…" the prince scoffs, fingers pinching his side. "Ouch! Sheesh, I hope you didn't pinch those girls like you just did to my poor side" he feigns a wince. The glare Dimitri gives earns him a tiny guffaw before they fall into silence.

Another spin, a quick two steps left, the routine has been ingrained to his head when he's first arrived to Fodlan. Basic court necessity, of course good old prince Dimitri would be an expert in it. "Heard your class is going to handle security on the Goddess tower," he starts, taking an extra step forward, surprising the other, "...the girls from my class are excited about the rumors regarding that tower" two rights, two lefts, the prince is doing well despite that additional proximity. 

Dimitri sighs wryly, "So are they in my house, I couldn't find it in myself to appreciate the romance they spoke so highly about the tower" he spins once more, swiftly, before the prince catches him and moves in harmony to the next step. 

"Have anyone to meet up there?" he asks teasingly, their feet slow as the melody enters its final stretch. Dimitri shakes his head with a soft laugh, "I do not think it's appropriate to court someone during the school year, we have our studies and future preparation to busy ourselves with" he feels the prince's grip tightens. True, he muses, squeezing Dimitri’s shoulder in return as a mutual agreement, “Yeah, we’d be too busy being nose deep in test materials, I suppose,” he agrees, “...but what about the lesser rumor that it could grant your wish?”

A snort slides out between Dimitri’s lips, “If life is that easy, then I suppose people could obtain each of their dream with a prayer” and it is almost spoken bitterly, a tone he hadn’t expected could come out from the prince when he spoke of the goddess he believes in. Yet it has been spoken firmly, meaningful, as if he knows firsthand about the sentence he has chosen.

The prince is quick to realize how rude he has sounded and apologizes, fumbling through words to string a coherently appropriate apology. Even if for just a moment, he probably has seen something that most students might not have seen.

Praying so the goddess would grant him his wish has never been considered by him as a surefire way to earn his dream. Dimitri shares this sentiment, despite how devoted he looks to the goddess. And something beneath his skin is prickling him to speak, to share what he couldn’t and see where it’d get him. To tell his dream with someone who shares his belief; a similar vision of the future.

Perhaps it is sympathy, or maybe hope, he couldn’t tell. But as the musical chords strikes the last note, his instinct takes over instantly. He leans in as close as he can - that smell of fresh snow spikes when he does - for the last routine and before he throws his head back, he whispers an invitation - sealing the deal with a wink as they separate.

It leaves Dimitri too agitated to continue the dance, but he ignores that and moves for his next dance partner - the last one, probably, he’s not too keen on dancing in courtly manner that much.

“This is a mildly pleasant surprise” says his new dance partner when the music once again shifts. He blinks and nearly laughs aloud at how coincidental tonight is.

Winking, he settles his hand on his current partner’s waist and offers a greeting,

“Good night to you too, princess Edelgard”

* * *

Claude is partially sure that his invitation would be ignored. Considered, perhaps, but ultimately be claimed as a joke and then ignored. It's a given since he has built a reputation for being quite a troublemaker. In a subtle way, of course, any mischievous effort might be done dirty, but it needs to be done elegantly. Clever would be the word he chose to describe his so-called prank - or scheme, they usually would label with - and perhaps a bit cunning.

So yes, he feels half stupid for sitting on this ledge to wait for someone who most likely wouldn't come. 

"I might have grown too soft…" he laughs bitterly to himself, resigned to that distilled nature he has had since he was born.

Still he stays like a fool.

At least the moon is quite a beauty tonight so even if the prince doesn't turn up, he could enjoy the view. Not to mention that the chilly night breeze is soothing, bringing no scent or trouble with it, just comfort. He closes his eyes, letting the wind ruffles his hair, enjoying the cool atmosphere it brings him with.

And that's how the world decides to surprise him. 

At first, it is faint, so faint that he thinks nothing of it but a stray wind has carried Dimitri's scent like a cruel joke from the universe. When it grows stronger, he throws his head back and opens his eyes. Only to meet with the Faerghus prince mere centimeters from his face. This causes a simultaneous yell to erupt from each of their mouth followed by a full-body lurch from his end.

A bad idea considering that he's sitting on a ledge of a bridge to one of the highest towers in the monastery.

Which is why, ten seconds later he's dangling by the edge of what he would call a certain death. The next ten seconds, he's already back on the ground, hearts beating far too fast than he could remember and Dimitri's fingers are wrapped around his wrist. Tight.

"My prince in shining armor…" he pants and Dimitri is quick to snap his glare toward him, a reprimand ready at the tip of his tongue, "...thank you, Dimitri…" he cuts softly. 

An aborted sputter rolls out of the prince's tongue. It is followed by a rush of scent emanating from Dimitri as a whisper of, “Goddess, Claude...” slips out of the other’s tongue. With a strong pull, he’s forced to stand as a pair of sapphire eyes glare at him intensely. "I hope you understand how reckless you've been" the blonde finally says, eyes sharp and lips pulled into a frown. 

He lets out a chuckle, "Yes, of course, your princeliness, do not worry, won't do it again, I'll be real good" to emphasize, he even drawls the last few words. Which only serves to piss the Faerghus heir. Ignoring that, he pulls Dimitri to a seat near where he had been seated prior to nearly plummeting to his death.

"And you didn't learn at all…" the prince rolls his eyes. To which he replies with, "But now I have you watching where my feet are so I won't worry" and it works like a charm to fluster - distract - the prince. 

They fall into silence afterward, simply enjoying each other's company under the moonlight. Surprisingly, he finds himself liking everything. From the warmth Dimitri exudes to the subdued scent that the prince emits. A far cry from the usual dominating scent that his kind usually assumes.

He almost wishes to lean on his companion's shoulder just to sniff his scent further. "Can I have your words that what I've said tonight shall never be revealed to anybody else?" he finally says, deciding it's best to move on. Dimitri turns his head, eyebrows raised curiously. Practically, he could sense the question on those blue eyes, yet the prince halts his tongue and merely nods.

Returning it with a nod, he begins, "I want to tear down the walls in Fodlan" he says, simple, "...both literally and figuratively" 

It takes Dimitri a moment and he could see the gears turning inside the prince's head before his eyes widen. "Are you...talking about the Fodlan's Throat…" escapes Dimitri's before he could elaborate. A swell of joy somehow makes its way beneath his chest, "Sharp guess, your princeliness" a praise slides out of his lips. 

Thousands of questions must've burnt inside Dimitri's mind, yet he stays silent, inquiring him to tell more, everything that he had cooked inside his own little head. "Your dream is with Duscur and Fodlan," he continues, feeling Dimitri tenses beside him, "...mine is with the prejudice against the outsider" 

"You wish to break Fodlan's Throat simply for the sake of mingling Fodlan and those who reside outside our borders" 

He nods. 

Dimitri stares at him, no, he glares so hard, he feels it pierces through his skin. "It could incite war" Dimitri says firmly; a warning before he treads to dangerous path. A dry chuckle makes its way to his lips, "Or it could make a better Fodlan, who knows?" he shrugs, feigning nonchalance.

No reply is made from Dimitri, though the resulting mixed of emotions flash through his face rapidly. 

It’s a given that the prince is most likely baffled, knowing that every noble in Fodlan is taught to believe how blessed they are as the children of the goddess. Especially those who bear a crest regardless of their gender. To them, the outsider are monsters that the goddess found unworthy of her blessing. They are merely subject who should - and would if the church have their way - be subjugated and conquered so they would also learn about Fodlan’s goddess’s grace.

But aren't they all humans? So why the wall between each of them? Why the separation of who could and could not receive the goddess's grace? He is a living proof that an outsider could receive a goddess’s blessing. Perhaps there’s someone else; another outsider who bears proof of the goddess’s blessing yet refuses to show themselves out of fear.

“I’m not here to ask for your help, dear prince,” he eventually says after a long pause, “...you’ve told me your vision for the future before, so I felt like sharing a bit of what I’m planning for days to come" 

That face Dimitri makes is unreadable, yet there’s respect glinting in his blue eyes as he opens his mouth, “Your dream would either doom Fodlan or change it for the better,” the prince closes his eyes, contemplative as he chooses his next words, “...yet I find myself believe that if it could happen for the better, it would, especially by your cunning mind”

“Should I feel flattered or insulted by your praise, your highness?” he teases.

The Faerghus heir snorts, “Take it as you like, Claude, but now I would never intentionally offend you"

They share a similar goal, he and Dimitri, though with different beliefs. But for a moment, he feels that faint hope - a dream once unattainable has received a chance. Claude had never relied fully on someone's words. Humans are cunning and he learnt to utilize it himself. 

Yet Dimitri's blue eyes shine in determination and honesty. Haunted still, yet gleaming. Against his better judgement, he leans closer, placing his head on the taller student's shoulder and simply relaxes to the smell of fresh snow.

Here, beneath the moonlit sky, two individuals make a shared promise that they agree without words.

* * *

Professor Byleth has a scent.

A scent that you usually smell after a downpour. The smell which anyone who witnessed Jeralt's death would associate to his demise. It was raining, it was damp, and the professor's tears were mixed with the rain as they silently mourned for their dead father.

For the rest of the moon, the academy finds out that emotion - a rarity from their new professor - could definitely change someone completely. It’s not until the end of the moon when the professor has blindly charged out of order - and honestly, anyone can see the glint of revenge in their usually empty eyes - toward the enemy only to get caught by a trap waiting that someone finally realizes the humanity in their stoic professor. 

Unfortunately, they, once again proven how inhuman they can be by breaking out from the trap - the abyss itself - and comes out renewed. It doesn’t help that soon after, the archbishop gushes over them, claiming that they have been touched by the goddess herself.

This is not a simple coincidence, he concludes and for the first time in his life, he prays for the future.

* * *

Before his heat hits next, he asks nonchalantly if Dimitri is willing to lend him anything with his scent because it comforts him. He swears that the prince goes through at least five emotions changes before he coughs to his fist, unclasps his cape and says, "You don't have to return it".

It is also the first time, he actually asks for someone else's belonging aside from his mother's to build a legit nest.

Once it is over, he wonders if the Golden Deer would be willing to lend him a small trinket each for him to work with when his next heat is due.

* * *

The rest of the term is a whirlwind of madness. 

After Edelgard turns out to be the Flame Emperor intending to desecrate the church, Dimitri goes absolutely mad. Not full-blown mad at once, of course, but the gradual descent into insanity. His scent is sharp all the time, to the point that even his own classmates couldn't stand near him without getting assaulted by the unspoken command from his smell alone. 

Dedue is devastated to say the least. Considering his secondary nature, he is indefinitely banned from hovering around his liege. Professor Byleth has even decreed so, begging the Duscur born to stay until Dimitri is calm enough and not emitting deadly scent left and right.

To his growing displeasure, he finds himself being drawn to the prince, eager to calm that festering madness. "No, you can't just," a deep sigh, "...Riegan, as soothing as your smell is to him, I couldn't risk anything" the professor reasons. Unfortunately, this feeble reasoning prompts him to do the opposite of what they want him to do. 

He gets closer instead.

Finding time between how hectic everything has become is a nightmare to deal with. It takes him a three days all-nighter before he could squeeze in a small meeting with Dimitri. 

Everyone is getting ready for war…

Meanwhile, Dimitri, is getting ready to be a murderer.

When he takes the empty seat beside the prince in the cathedral that night, the sharp scent instantly assaults the rest of his senses. It would definitely rob anyone weak enough of their rational thought. He might not be perfect on resisting such instinctual effect, but at the very least he wouldn't just obey anyone blindly.

"How are you doing, your highness?"

"I will kill her!"

He's not surprised by his reply despite where they are supposed to be. Yet it hurts him to hear that determination he saw before being directed to a lost cause. "Yes, yes, murder and bloodshed, what's new when we're faced with an inevitable war" he recites as if bored, knowing that the prince wouldn’t even hear him with Edelgard’s death fully instilled in his mind.

"Do not get in my way, Riegan, I do not want to hear you defend her for her crimes in Duscur" Dimitri snarls, the sound he makes is almost feral in nature. For a moment, the prince channels his instinct, unknowingly - or knowingly? - tries to sway him to his side by mentioning Duscur. 

He shared his dream not to be manipulated, thank you very much.

"Have I ever said that princess Edelgard is not at fault?" he starts with a scoff, "...I'm not taking sides here, dear prince. The only thing I'm here for is your well-being"

Dimitri snaps his face toward him, pupils dilated and unfocused, "You should've taken side if you truly care about your dream, Riegan. She threatens the peace in Fodlan by intending to destroy the church," a hand shoots up to grab him by the shoulder, "...she's responsible for Duscur! That beast had destroyed any bond we have with the people of Duscur" the grip tightens and Claude prays to every gods in the sky that the supernatural strength crest would not be triggered.

"Did you hear her confirm that action?" he asks; calm, composed, despite the instinct beneath his chest telling him to agree and submit and be good.

Shaking his head violently, Dimitri answers, "A criminal would never confess to their crimes willingly. I'll pry it out of her dying mouth eventually"

Swallowing, he averts his eyes, reasserting his thought before he puts his rational thoughts into words, "Then what makes you different than the council you hated for accusing Duscur without listening to your words?" 

It's a low blow, mentioning the prince's hurtful past, but it's also low for the prince to pull 'his' dream to this mess. “I saw her that day...” is hissed through gritted teeth and pain lances through his shoulder. That would bruise, he thinks bitterly, “As a fourteen year old flame emperor?” he says, refusing to wince, not now, not when he’d lose a good ally if things go south. 

A dry laugh echoes across the empty hall of the Goddess, “She works with mages capable of casting illusion, it is not in the realm of impossibility for her to assume a larger form to cast suspicion off of her” 

“Then what’s stopping the mage from creating an illusion of her face as the flame emperor?” he replies. 

“I know that dagger...it’s truly her” growls Dimitri.

And god, he wants to submit, but he couldn’t and it pains him, “Have you considered if the enemy had perhaps planted it there? They are cunning, how would the church be incapable of finding them until now if they are not?” he hopes that he isn’t shaking as he grasps for reasons, anything that would bring him back.

Dimitri’s hand moves swiftly to his collar and he is pulled toward the prince; fury flashes on that pretty face. His smell is peaking - snowstorm, wind, the stark red blood against white, filled with the smell of death and ashes.

Then, a broken sob breaks through.

It's as if the heavy pull is lifted and he exhales unconsciously in relief. His shoulders are released and the scent is dwindling as Dimitri finally breaks. Instinct immediately prompts him to pull the prince to him, presses Dimitri against his neck where his soothing scent could do anything to perhaps fix him. “They’re counting on me...” Dimitri mutters to his skin, “...if I don’t have Edelgard’s head, who would avenge the dead that were sacrificed that day?” 

Carding through the blonde locks, he answers, “The burden of the past shouldn’t be placed upon those who live for the future...” he can feel Dimitri stiffens, though he soldiers on, “...a very determined prince once told me that exact sentence”

When Dimitri doesn’t react further, he continues, “You live for a dream, dear prince, and for that you live for the future. Not just yours, but also the rest of Faerghus. Wouldn’t you also honor the dead by achieving a future they couldn’t?”

The prince is shaking and he could smell that hesitation and sorrow and everything rolls into one tangled mess of emotions, “But they wanted me to-" he cuts him off with an insistent press, muffling the rest of the sentence. “Whoever they are, they’re terrible influence to a great individual and I would shoot them in the face for saying otherwise” he growls lowly. And he would do so, especially if ‘they’ are uptight nobles who sit comfortably on the chair of Faerghus’s governors.

He could feel Dimitri’s replying, but he doesn’t let go to hear it. Words are only strong when they are spoken and heard after all. Once he makes sure that Dimitri is calm enough not to speak in biased opinion, he loosens his grip, allowing escape should the prince finds it suffocating. 

Yet it’s not until morning that they let each other go.

(He would definitely relish the look on the priest’s face when he shakes them awake insistently)

* * *

Perhaps the goddess doesn't love her children after all...

* * *

A lost couldn't even begin to explain what had happened the day that the church fell. The archbishop disappears, every student is sent home to retreat from the last defense line and their supposedly goddess-touched teacher is presumed dead. Fodlan falls into chaos and he is thrusted into the leader's seat far too soon after.

Duke Riegan might have entrusted him fully with Leicester, but the rest of the nobles in the Alliance mostly refuse his leadership. "Bearing the Riegan's crest does not hide your second nature, boy…" one of them hisses, "...your scent taints the nobility seats"

He calmly explains that they can have the seat if they want and try to keep balance between the houses which support the empire and those who don't. While making sure the whole Alliance is still true to their name: 'allied'. They wisely reject his offer, claiming that they would respect duke Riegan's choice. 

Nobody wants to lead a deteriorating faction, obviously…

They’re definitely waiting for him to make a single mistake that would fatally wound the Alliance; a mistake that they would utilize to high heaven until he submits to their rule. Too bad for them, he does have good allies from the academy. All who have faith in him and spread out across the Alliance’s map. 

From Lorenz, he receives occasional reports regarding the houses who have surrendered to the Empire. He might be pompous and as snob as a noble can be, but he always strives to be the best noble he could. The report he makes is always meticulous and detailed, ensuring that he knows the inner workings of the Empire in their territory.

Hilda tries to accompany her brother to the border, claiming that she would not see her home falls without a fight. It’s easy to gain access to how Fodlan’s Throat is during her stay there, right in the front wall between Fodlan and Almyra. She might not write everything - a testament of her old habit - but what she writes is always enough for him to take Almyra into account.

Both Raphael and Ignatz deal with the trade system in Fodlan; merchants seek the most profit so it is expected of them to stay neutral. They always have the latest information between the other factions and are happy to rally any rumors to him straight up. Not to mention that knowing the latest goods prices could give them an insight to what their enemy have and need.

During her travels across the land with the noble who hires her, Leonie learns of their backseat dealing. So everything that is done intentionally behind the head of the Alliance is a common sight to her. Obviously, she couldn’t simply send messages to Claude without raising suspicion. But she makes sure to jot down everything she could and passes it to anyone she trusts along the way. Not the fastest way to deal with this problem, but he’s thankful for the head’s up anyway.

Each result from Lysithea's studies brings them closer to understanding how Empire's magic works. Especially those that dabble in the dark arts. He knows that the young noble has a personal reason to relentlessly pursue this line of trouble, though he never asks. Lysithea stands with the Alliance and he doesn't doubt that her reason too stands against the Empire.

Soft-spoken as she is, Marianne proves herself to be incredibly insightful when it comes to reading tells from other people. A useful ability that she, herself hasn’t realized yet as she often uses it to soothe animals. Her own report is filled with little details that no one would notice. It gives him a different perspective than what the nobles she’s dealing with appears to be.

They've become irreplaceable allies, valued and treasured, even. He often tries to send people to see how they're doing or help them with whatever task they would need help with. Most of the time, he couldn't, having need of the manpower himself. But when he does, they always come back alive, bearing a message from his friends about their improvement.

Unfortunately, they couldn't meet with one another as the year passes. It's sad to only know them by their letters, but with each response, he's glad to say that they are growing up to be excellent in each of their line of work.

On the other side, the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus deteriorates as the war progresses. With the rumor of their prince's demise when the war broke out, each house making up the kingdom is desperately trying to tie themselves together. They are not united, though he heard that Fraldarius - he remembers a Fraldarius student, wielding a sword fiercely and wonders - house is taking a temporary reign over the kingdom.

He met Rodrigue before, the kingdom is in capable hands. For now.

What probably worries him the most is the rumor instead. He believes that the prince wouldn't be killed that easily despite what the Empire wants them to believe. Besides, knowing how Edelgard would want to prove his death, the absence of Dimitri's body - or head if she really is truly that grotesque - is odd. 

If the Empire wants to prove their power over the kingdom, they would have to show them the body - banish all kinds of hope that their to-be-crowned king has survived the assault. Yet a public execution had never been made.

Unless, if there is no body. 

This leads to his belief that it was a simple made up story to convince the kingdom that there’s no hope left if they don’t surrender at once. With both chances at the table he couldn’t help that hopeful feeling beneath his chest. Though he would not depend on such fragile wish, he could at least consider it . His dream isn't going anywhere with that kind of mindset. 

Achieving it alone would be an uphill battle with everything constantly out to get him. 

His sight falls into the map on his table where various scribbles and small wooden pieces are scattered across the picture drawn on its uneven surface. Funny how the map looks now when Fodlan splits into three. 

A knock on his door reminds him that a meeting is coming up soon, an awful reminder of his duty entrusted to him by the late Duke.

For now, he breathes in as he acknowledges the increasingly panicked call from behind the door. He has to keep the Alliance from falling apart.

* * *

Perhaps it is fortunate that he has Nader as his retainer for all the hours of the day. After the first proposal from a random noble, he has to turn down about a dozen more. They clearly are doing this to get him under control. Fortunately, he has conditioned himself not to bow before anyone who's superior in their second gender to him.

Nader is just a guarantee that no one would touch him. Especially not when he's in the most vulnerable state. 

His heat is getting harder to spend it by himself. Even wrapping himself around the blue cape he cherishes brings no result. So he stops thinking about it altogether. With the war raging on further as reason, he simply sets it aside, claiming that it's going to be a hindrance.

Many scorn him for this, accusing him of denying his own nature. Though eventually, they stop sending him their children for courtship and focus wholly on the war. 

It is for the best, he thinks.

* * *

Out of all people to tell him anything at all about Dimitri, it is Lysithea. 

The Ordelia's messenger looks past the point of exhaustion when he arrives, bearing a rolled parchment where she has stored an urgent message. He asks the reason behind an actual messenger instead of carrier bird and the messenger rasped out how Lady Lysithea does not want this particular information to fall on the Empire's hand. 

"She also told me to burn the message should I be captured," he says as a matter of factly, "...it's the first priority before I try to escape"

He weighs the parchment in his hand, considering, "Should I send the reply through you?" he asks the messenger. The young man inhales deeply, "She does not expect a reply from you at all, Duke Riegan. Only my affirmation that I've succeeded at sending the letter to you"

Dismissing him to rest, he unrolls the parchment.

* * *

Greater heights means lower temperature and he would never get used to how cold it could be as he nears the cloud height. His usual clothing does not provide him with good insulation. Neither the blue cape tied to his neck that he's currently covering half his face with.

Thankfully, his beloved wyvern has no qualms with him clutching and pressing his body against her warm scales. She even coos, as if worried about her rider when he sneezes. He mutters a quiet thanks to her, patting the side of her neck as she beats her wings to take them faster. 

Despite how fast she could fly, he'd rather not have to run from an unpleasant encounter. Especially not from another faction. 

Nearly in silence they traverse the sky, stopping every once in a while to rest on an outcropping or mountain caves. The journey shouldn't have taken him more than two days if they don't have to take the long route away from prying eyes. Three days to get there and three days to return; it's a week of leaving the Alliance in the hands of his trusted retainer. 

_  
"And you're truly sure you have to be the one making the journey, little lord?" his retainer gruffly asked, glaring sharply to question his choice. With an equally sharp glare he replies with one single perceptive nod. Nader holds his glare for a minute before a grin makes way to his rugged face, "Alright, I'll handle things here," the older man clasps a hand on his shoulder, "...be careful, little lord"_

__

And that was the last time he spoke to Nader about his trip. Nobody else knew aside from a few of his servants who would have to reschedule every meeting he's going to hold that week. It earned him a glare from the closest servant he has to an advisor. But with a scoff, he has promised him that the following week would be hell and let him go.

It is to the sight of a familiar rooftop that he finally snaps back to the real world. The steep slope brings every kind of memory he spent running under it to feign a prayer whenever he's requested to. A bridge to the side reminds him of the unspoken promise he made with another. Shaking off the nostalgic tale, he taps his wyvern, pulling gently at her reign so she could descend to where he needs to be.

He halts her after witnessing the collapsed main crossing and instead opts to land her in the corner across the small tower. A bit away from the well - which surprisingly is quite well despite the destruction around it - hidden by the shadow. She snorts when he asks her to be quite, a little pout adorns her maws as he tiptoes to the slightly ajar door. 

Immediately, his nose is assaulted by the smell of blood and flesh and oh gods, he shouldn't have confronted this alone. Pulling his cape up over his nose, he stares, wide-eyed at the destruction before him.

What once was a beautiful chapel with the goddess statue standing tall in front of colored stained glass had become ruins of stones and glass. The bodies littering the sacred hall look nightmarish and the blood painting the floor is horrendous. He presses a hand over his mouth and nose to block the scent. Yet it still slips between the narrow gap of the barely scented fabric, telling him story without words of what had transpired here.

Then, a scraping noise echoes across the chapel, echoing like a warning to his ears. Immediately, he crouches, scrambling to hide behind any shadow he could find. From behind a pew, he listens closely to the horrifying noise. A weapon is scratching at the stone floor, heavy and menacing. Whoever wields it seems uncaring to how that weapon would get dulled. 

Or is it a threat? A wordless, intangible threat to him, an intruder to this formerly sacrilegious ground?

Then a laugh; boisterous, hysterical, almost manic. He has to physically stop himself from trembling violently as the laughter crescendos. Gods above...what kind of...murderer resides here now?

Abruptly, the laughter dies, leaving him with palpable silence, which curls and sends uncomfortable pushes on his stomach. Could he even breathe without being heard? 

"Not you too..." a voice suddenly speaks, shaky and hoarse from misuse. His hand presses further against his mouth, breath held and voice catches at the back of his throat. The scent, that voice, this noise, everything screams wrong. Yet he couldn’t help that itching curiosity even as his heart refuses to beat slower. 

A step, heavy with weight, followed by a grunt of pain, “So be it then...” the voice continues, softer, almost resigned and his breath hitches, “...if even you would come here, that means, I’ve failed everything then” and he sounds so dejected, broken. Slowly, hesitantly, but driven, he looks up, over the pew and to where the prayer used to gather.

_Claude, do what you wish with this information. Do not let anyone but you read it. Burn it after, let no evidence stay if you wish for Faerghus to survive._

__

The figure is slouched on the floor, wrapped in a thick blue coat. He almost looked dead if not for the shift of his shoulder, signifying inhales and exhales. Right beside him, a strange spear rests - he knows that spear - though it must've seen its use with the drying blood liberally coating its tip. With the bodies around him, he paints a terrifying picture. 

Still as softly as he could, he takes a step toward the figure. When nothing changes, he takes another and another until he stands before the slouched man. Beneath the raw flesh putrid odor, the familiar scent hits him. That fresh snow and that citrusy scent brings memories -though the scent is in distress; sharp, impulsive, everything that screams in need of comfort- and he shakes it off. Not now, he tells himself as he crouches.

Instinct prods him to reach out, but logic dictates him not to touch. So he lets his hand hangs in the middle, hovering awkwardly. Bracing himself, he clears his throat and beckons,

“Dimitri?”

A split second later, he's laid flat on the floor with a gloved hand wrapped around his neck. His hands automatically move to reach at whatever's choking him. Barely, he could catch sight of a dilated blue orb and choked out a tiny, feeble, "S-sto-" before his throat fails. Stuttered coughs stammer out of him as the pressure increases and he desperately scratches at the metal gloves. 

He's going to die…

Too abruptly, he is released and a loud, raspy wheeze flits out of him. He tries to inhale as much oxygen as he could - in spite of the horrifying scent. His breath is cut short as the very same pair of hands have taken ahold of his shirt, pulling him up with supernatural strength. With his heart beating erratically against his chest, he finally meets face to face to the half dead prince.

"Why do you have a scent?" Dimitri - the scent is the same, but is he truly…? - growls. 

"Uh…" he says as eloquently.

The former prince snarls, "Why do you have a scent, Riegan!? A ghost should not have a scent!" 

He blinks, "A...ghost?" his mind is still reeling from how fast this whole exchange is going. 

One last growl and he is thrown to the floor as the former prince turns away. Every muscle in his body is screaming at him to stop - bruises must've been forming as he forces himself to move. The world tilts for a moment before he hears that dreaded sound of metal against stone. 

Is Dimitri truly--

He has a full second to retrieve the dagger slipped in his boots before the spear clashes against his small, pitiful weapon. The contact buys him time. Once. It is not built to fight against such a powerful blow after all. Flinging the hilt of his former dagger toward the prince, he rolls away from Dimitri. Out of pure adrenaline - and fear, he pushes himself to stand and whistles in patterns of high and low pitches. 

Dimitri pounces at the same time his wyvern answers the call, tearing down a good chunk of wall with panicked cry. Both roars are terrifying, though Dimitri is faster, too fast for a hulking figure with armor that would probably drown underwater. His steed is staring down at the master she's serving, trapped to the pillar by this man she had never seen before. 

Before Dimitri could react properly to the larger presence, she has bitten at the blonde's cape and gracelessly throws him away from her lord. He winces when Dimitri smacks against the broken statue before falling into a crumpled heap. As an appropriate reaction he stares at the body, slack-jawed and stunned before turning his gaze back to the wyvern.

His wyvern lets out a menacing snarl at the unconscious former prince before she nuzzles to his side, asking silently of his well-being - and how good she's been. He's still reeling from the shock of how fast that was, but he gives her scaly head pats anyway. 

Once she's satisfied, he reaches to take a bow -and its quiver- and a sword on her saddle, feeling infinitely safer with those in hand. It's foolish to think that he won't be attacked, but hey, he hadn't expected that there would be anyone here at all. Thieves, maybe, but they mostly would be hungry fools who'd do anything for a purse of gold. 

Finding the actual rumored-to-be-dead prince is far from his mind. He trusts Lysithea, sure, the information she provides him has been spot on, yes. But in a war, anything could be true. A rumor and proof about anyone's demise would both always be half true. So he refuses to rely solely on fragile hope. 

Yet he has come and here Dimitri is. Unconscious but real though in less than an ideal shape. Very much alive - if that blow from his wyvern hasn't killed him yet. Keeping his sword unsheathed, he steps toward the former prince. The closer he gets, the stronger that nostalgic scent he could sniff. It prompts a wistful smile out of him. 

Despite how murderous Dimitri had looked just a few minutes ago.

War might have changed Dimitri, but the scent stays the same and he finds it as comforting as before at the very least. As carefully as he could, his hand reaches out to touch the spear laying by the unconscious prince. The gleaming stone as its core is a given proof that it is indeed a Hero Relic. Not any Hero Relic, it is Dimitri's by birthright.

Areadbhar glows softly in his hands and he winces as it recognizes him not as its wielder. "I'm not going to use you…" he mutters wryly and sheathes it to his back, beside his bow. Not giving Dimitri a weapon to hold is still his go-to strategy after all.

With the potentially dangerous weapon out of the former prince's reach, he carefully approaches the slumping figure, sheathing his sword. Dimitri might looked alive; breathing and speaking. But his gaze had been so hollow, bereft of purpose and life. His stature had always been confident - feigned, perhaps, but the young prince used to look confident in his strength - yet here, he looked as if all the weight in the world had been put to his shoulders.

What remains is his scent. That fresh snow and citrusy smell that he had grown comfortable with is ever presence. Though blood stains the scent, he could always recognize it anywhere. His hand shoots up to fiddle with the edge of his scarf - the scent on this fabric had disappeared a long time ago - and takes a deeper whiff, catching the scent faintly. It is what makes him certain that it is indeed Dimitri right before him. Not some sort of sick impersonation of his person. 

Careful so as to not wake him, he pushes the mop of blonde hair - tangled, greasy, how long since he last saw any liquid but blood? - away from the pale face. Only half of it is visible, the rest is hidden, pressed against the floor. From what he could see, he wishes he had brought more supplies. 

Stress, starvation, and possibly over exhaustion, Dimitri is well on his way to the land of the dead. Those barely scratch the surface as he spots the first scar. Then the next scar...and next and...next...and--

By the end of the trail of scars, he finds the edge of his armor hiding the rest beneath the protective shell. Which probably are more numerous than what he could actually see. He leaves featherlight touches on each that he could touch, citing a wish for each scar.

Absentmindedly, his other hand cards through the blonde mop of hair, relishing the mere fact that this is real. Dimitri is alive and somehow, somewhere beneath his chest, a warmth slowly spread. 

This means hope for Faerghus - a key to gain their trust and hopefully quell any reason for conflict between the kingdom and the alliance. If he could urge Dimitri to return and declare himself king, the empire's control over the kingdom would be null and void. 

But Dimitri isn't in his best condition. He glazes over the figure hidden beneath the cape. From what he has managed to glimpse, he's far from ideal in both mind and body to return. He's alive, yes, but at what cost?

Did Dimitri know what had happened to his kingdom at all? How long had he been here, half dead while surrounded by corpses?

His grip tightens, heart clenches at a few possibilities that arise with those questions. "What happened to you?" he whispers.

* * *

Though he doesn't want to let go of Dimitri, he still has to check on the church's ruins. It has boggled his mind since he opened that door and saw the horrific massacre inside. Are they casualty of war? Or are they new? 

He whistles to his steed, asking her firmly to keep the unconscious man under watch. And not to bite him again please. She snorts at his request, but proceeds to shuffle toward Dimitri and settles beside him, head turned to stare. He pats her snout and stands, preparing himself to check the dead bodies around them.

Pulling his cape back up to cover half his face, he huffs. Could do without the obnoxious smell of blood…

The first corpse he examines is of a young man with one arm and one leg. His other arm was mangled, only the last stretch of flesh stringing it together. Upon closer inspection, he could see maggots and crawlies settling in his rotting flesh, absorbing and feeding from the last nutrients it could offer. It looks half-rotten, as if the person had died a few weeks ago. 

Its torso is wrapped in simple armor; light and most likely was chosen to avoid dragging its wearer down. A dagger is laying forgotten by its side - useless - and a few empty pouches are strapped to its waist. Looters, he concludes, seeking riches from the ruins of a holy place. 

He grimaces and moves on.

This one has a hole right on his chest; gaping like a maw. A spear has punctured him through, leaving nothing to anyone's imagination about his innards. Drying massive stain of blood pools beneath the lifeless corpse, telling him more than the aftermath image he's witnessing. Perhaps he died quickly, pierced through the chest and passed away the second it did. It might be a merciful act, considering the previous corpse who probably had died slowly as he was losing blood.

He gazes at the rest of the bodies, new and old, every single one of them. They all have met a gruesome death, as if they've been mauled by an animal. A sickening thought, knowing who has probably been residing here for quite some time.

After passing several uninteresting corpses - nameless raiders - he returns to the altar. Giving his steed a pat on her nose, he turns to the unconscious former prince. He couldn’t take Dimitri with him even if he wants to. With how unstable he is, Dimitri would only doom them should he wake up during their journey back to the Alliance territory. 

Yet he couldn’t simply leave like nothing has happened. 

There must be something he could do, anything that would help or at least urge Dimitri to seek help from anyone. He doesn’t know why the prince would stay coped in the church’s ruin, protecting it from thieves. Perhaps he’s in hiding, that the noble of Faerghus shoved him here until the war comes to a standstill before revealing their trump card. Or it could be the sentimental value that this ruin holds for him which brought him here?

Sighing, he turns to his steed, “What do you think we should do, dear?” he asks, half-jokingly. His wyvern makes an impassive face as she scoffs and flares her nostrils. Then, she tilts her back to show the saddle and every single resource he brings. “See what we have?” he says, curious about her proposition. 

She huffs as if she’s having enough of his dumb reply.

"Alright, I'll bite" he mutters, shuffling toward her. His attention is soon caught by her saddle; minimalized, simple, and easy to take off or put on. He has requested for the lightest one without too many of a storage room since he's mostly going to be on the move. For weapons, he has brought a sword and a bow with two quivers. Basic defensive weaponry; heavy weapon would only slow him down. 

Provision is stored in the deepest pocket, covered by several vulneraries and medicines. A bag of coins stuck deep in the empty corner, slouched and full. He hadn't had the time to stop in any town and replenish his supply. Not that he needs it - for now, at least. 

He unsheathes the sword from its strap on his person, examining the golden sheathe and the Alliance's crest upon its length. Standard-issued Alliance sword, he notes dryly. Reaching over his back to get the bow, he pats over the smooth length of another weapon. 

Areadbhar, his mind recalls and he pulls it from its strap. The hero relic is silent in his hands; its crest stone gleams proudly, showing off the Blaidydd's crest carved onto its surface.

Dimitri must've been using this weapon to eliminate intruders, if the crusted blood on its tip is anything to go by. "You've been through a lot, huh?" he asks, stroking the length of its grip with his thumb. The spear doesn't answer, though it looks heavier as the stone on its core dulls. 

This is probably the only reminder for Dimitri about his kingdom. About his birthright and family; a heirloom he'd hang onto even when his mind broke.

He stops.

Areadbhar glows warmly in his hands.

* * *

With Areadbhar on his back and a brand new heavy blue cape to replace his old one- he tries hard not to think of the smell which clings to the fabric- he pulls himself up to his wyvern, shifting to get comfortable for his long journey home. She makes a confused noise, gesturing toward Dimitri with a tilt of her head. He follows her gesture, “Yellow suits him” he says as he carves the image of his former classmate wrapped in his cloak.

Dimitri looks ridiculous with a yellow cloak, blue cape, and a sword, but hey, he still looks good.

She doesn’t question him further as she prepares for take off, carrying him through the broken wall and into the bridge leading to the Goddess Tower right beside the church. One powerful leap later, they are in the air, set on their way home. A new weight settles on his back, the relic weighs heavily, reminding him of the new possibility he has hoped to create.

He doesn’t look back.

* * *

When he comes to the next meeting, wrapped in a blue cloak instead of his usual bright yellow one, everyone's attention instantly shifts to that difference. They ask of its significance, how he got it and why would he wear it. Some who could smell the scent woven in its seam mockingly leer at him. 

"Couldn't keep up the strong independent omega act, eh?" one curtly comments. He snorts at this, "It has a nice smell, don't you think?" with ease, he replies, exaggeratingly burying half his face on the blue fabric. Which earns him disgusted faces and gags he simply smirks at.

Nader guffaws at his appearance before he smacks him by the shoulder. It is only after they reach privacy that he asks if it's something more serious than it appears to be. "It's a plan in motion…" he says vaguely. Not an answer that his retainer wants to hear, but it is the only answer he could give. 

Meanwhile, tucked inside his room, safe and sound is Areadbhar; the bargain chip he'd count on when the time truly comes.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a long fic and I can't believe I made it without bumping it into explicit rating
> 
> Updated: Made a [companion fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25778182) for this one


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